Sailing in and out the bay
Just trying to see through the haze
There's hay on the land
And there's work to be done.
Watching little kids at play,
Throwing beach rocks in the middle of the day.
I wonder if the future will drive them all away.

CHORUS
Sailing along the island shore.
She's got a beauty of her own.
The emerald green land that she has
Can touch the hearts of one.
The force of the waves
How they smash against the rocks
And there's small boats in the horbours
And they're guarded by the docks.

On the wharf there is a shack
Held up mainly by an old tin stack,
Rusted hinges on the doors and holes all around.
Skipper John he would sit and talk
About the good old times down by the dock
They would never wonder about the clock
Or if it's time to go home.

Look at all the boats on shore.
I'll wonder if they'll sail any more.
Rot, just sitting in old paint on the ground.
Sea gulls flying in the sky
and cod fish on the flake to dry.
Putt, putt - a boat passed by
with the scent of salt in the air.